


All Things Soft, Beautiful, and Bright

by GhostGarrison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Escort Service, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Past Anders/Karl - Freeform, Prostitution, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sex before love, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9102466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: After his fiance died, Anders couldn't get himself to go out and try dating again. It's been years since he's been intimate with anyone, and he's lost all his confidence that he could even get someone into his bed again. So he plays it safe and hires an escort to help him take a step toward healing. But what he doesn't expect is for his escort to be so perfect.





	

Anders paces from one end of his apartment to the other, absently tugging at his cheap tie that feels too tight around his neck. The air feels too hot and his skin feels too cold, the thin fabric of his pressed white button-up shirt does little to help this contradiction.

It’s the evening of the company’s Satinalia party, but that’s not what he’s anxious about.

He’s waiting for his date for the office party to arrive, the word ’date’ being a loosely defined term. The man he’s waiting for is—dare he admit it to himself—an escort. Not one of those cheap hookers from shady buildings at the edge of Darktown that you can pay to take out, but a nice one from an official upscale company where, secretly, “happy endings” are guaranteed for the right price. 

It took him a long time of meticulous budgeting and scrupulous saving to be able to afford hiring this escort, so he hopes the night will go as he planned. It’s been so long since he’s last had an opportunity to spend time with someone who enjoys his presence, whose attention is focused on him in more than one way, who will give him the emotional and physical attention he involuntarily craves.

The fact that Anders hasn’t slept with anyone since his beloved fiance Karl died nearly three years ago doesn’t help his anxiety.

His heart shattered the day he received a call from the hospital’s medical examiner, the world felt ripped from beneath his feet when he saw the cold pale body on the table. But instead of focusing on trying to heal the hurt in his heart, he stood motionless as his life continued to crumble around him. He dropped out of medical school, withdrew from his friends’ offers of help and comfort, and was eventually forced to take a job as a nameless associate at this stupid company that won’t pay him nearly enough money for his work.

It was only when he received a little push from a friend that he finally felt he should do something to take a step that might help in his recovery. Niall referred him to Champion Escorts—why the man knew of an escort company, Anders will never dare to ask—and said maybe a night with a _‘handsome and attentive gentleman’_ would do him some good. Anders dismissed the idea immediately much to his friend’s dismay, but it stuck in his mind like a leech.

He doesn’t really need an escort for the company’s party, but it’s a good enough excuse.

It took quite some time to gather enough courage to call the company, but it turned out to be unbelievably simple. The phone receptionist greeted him warmly, asking him a few questions about what he’s looking for and taking down his information. They provided him the escort’s name and just like that, it was arranged.

As he continues to pace, Anders catches a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror. In black pants, white shirt, and black tie, he looks nondescript, like he could blend in with anyone and disappear in a crowd. It’s a simple ensemble, a little dusty after sitting for more than two years, but it still fit him with a little extra room to spare. With a sudden searing pain through his heart, he recalls the last time he wore it—on a date with Karl to a musical playing downtown.

That’s what this feels like. A date. But he has to remind himself that it’s just a business arrangement—money exchanged for a service. When everything about the circumstance is stripped away, he’s essentially hired a fancy prostitute.

Anders feels pathetic just thinking about what his life has come to. At the age of thirty-seven, he’s no spring chicken anymore. With all he’s been through, no one would want someone so washed up and broken like him. He probably couldn’t get anyone into his bed even if he tried.

Hopefully his escort won’t judge him. By the Void, for how much he’s paying, he better not.

The doorbell buzzes, a sound so sudden and loud that nearly makes him jump out of his skin. Anders steels himself, trying to shrug off his general feeling of nervousness in exchange for one of cool composure. He straightens and tightens his tie, pulling it close to his neck once more and already it feels stifling. Hand settled on the doorknob, he takes one last long exhale.

The man on the other side of the door is impossibly handsome, and stylish as one would expect an escort to be. He must be in his late-twenties or early-thirties, his face bright and full of youthful light. His dark hair is styled to one side and his beard is neatly trimmed into clean angles that accent the strong jawline it hides. Crystal blue eyes twinkle back at him as his lips curve into a charming smile.

“Are you Anders?”

Distracted by that deep voice, it takes a second for the question to register. “Yes, I am.”

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Hawke, but I suppose you can call me whatever you’d like tonight. Are you ready to go?” When Anders nods his head, the escort offers his arm, bent and ready for him to take it. “Shall we?”

Arms linked, they walk out to his car together. It’s a cruddy little machine, picked up from a junkyard when Karl and Anders had first moved in with each other. _‘You should have your own car,’_ Karl once told him. _‘I hate seeing you come home soaking wet from waiting for the bus in the rain.’_ Karl returned with the car a few days later as a surprise, promising he’d learn a bit about mechanics to keep it running.

Hands gripping the wheel tightly, he physically shakes the memory from his head. The passenger door lets out a dreadful creak as it shuts, and already Anders feels judged even though Hawke’s expression hasn’t changed once.

The drive to the company’s main headquarters is quiet for the first few minutes. Without a working radio, Anders is left stewing in his own thoughts and begins to doubt himself. There’s an escort—an incredibly handsome and younger man—sitting in his passenger seat, the seat that has been empty for three years. He’s actually saved up enough money to pay for a single night with him, and has even paid extra to sleep with him at the end of it. Not only that but he’s taking him to a company party, which could end in disaster in so many ways.

He’s almost to the point of calling the evening off when his passenger interrupts his thoughts.

“Is there anything you’d like me to know before we get there?”

The question catches him off guard. “What?”

“Am I playing your friend? Boyfriend? Long lost cousin-in-law from Antiva? Handsome mail-order boyfriend?” Hawke asks, lightly laughing at his own joke. “Who do you want me to be at the party?”

“Oh, right,” Anders says, considering all the possible options before deciding on the most logical one. “Boyfriend, I suppose…”

The thought of calling anyone his boyfriend makes Anders uneasy. The title was attached to a different bearded face with blue eyes for so many years, it doesn’t feel right to so easily reassign it. But it’s too late, and trying to do something different would complicate this evening too much.

Hawke nods in a way that Anders knows it’s not the first time he’s been asked to play someone’s lover. “Can you give me a rundown on what I might need to know to be your proper, doting boyfriend?”

“I’m thirty-seven, born on the first of the year. I’ve been an assistant-associate for Thedex Corporation for about a year now…” He trails off, unable to think of much else to say. He frowns. Maker, has his life truly gotten this dull and empty? Does he truly only work, eat, and sleep? What happened to his life? It feels as though all things soft, beautiful, and bright were buried with Karl, and he was left with the crumbling decrepit remains of what was once a marvellous world. 

Sighing, he tries his best to add anything he can think of. “I have a cat named Ser-Pounce-a-Lot. My favorite color is green... I haven’t been to the company Satinalia party before.” In fact, he hasn’t been to a party in years, but he decides to omit that part of the truth.

Hawke nods, absorbing the information before asking a few, more specific questions.

The parking lot is nearly full when they arrive, signalling the party is already in full swing. Anders has never been one to be early, and it would have been only more awkward if he was forced to stand and socialize with people before it all began. When he puts the car in park and turns off the engine, Hawke reaches over and takes his cold clammy hand into his warm and gentle hold.

“Tonight is about you and about what you want to do, so please don’t hesitate to ask anything of me.”

It’s a profoundly courteous and chivalrous statement, but Niall did say that Champion Escorts were some of the best gentlemen in the city. Hawke is already doing a good job being a distraction, keeping him tethered to the idea of having him as a fake boyfriend for an evening and taking him to bed afterward. 

Maybe things will work out after all.

The company party itself isn’t something Anders would have normally involved himself with these days, but being there with someone else makes it easier. Hawke keeps to his side, easily strolling beside him as they circle the main lobby. 

When a few co-workers that Anders couldn’t name stop them to chat, Hawke begins to craft a persona that he has to pay attention to in order to play along. His name is Jerran, they’ve been apparently dating for five months, loves cats—especially Anders’ cat—and works as a data analyst for a small unnamed company. 

Just as a good escort should be, Hawke is charismatic and seems to draw people to him just by simply existing.

During a discussion about Hawke’s imaginary background, Anders quietly excuses himself to the punchbowl. He feels overwhelmed by the amount of people in the room, and with how many of them want to talk to him. _‘Talk to Hawke, you mean,’_ his mind supplies condescendingly, to which he agrees.

A woman from her department—Jaenine, was it?—approaches him while he pours some non-alcoholic red punch into a little plastic cup. He begins to pour a second one for his escort when she waves her well-manicured hand in front of his face.

“Anders!” She explains, throwing her arms around him as if they were close friends. She smells deeply of alcohol, and the way she leans her weight on him tells him just how much she’s had. “Your boyfriend is so wonderful. He’s so hot—oops! I’m sorry! He’s taken, isn’t he?” She laughs loudly, grabbing hold of his arm just above his elbow to steady herself. “Anyway, why haven’t you talked about him before?”

 _‘Because you haven’t said more than two word to me since I started working here,’_ Anders thinks, shoving those words back down his throat. That’s always the issues with big parties, isn’t it? People ignore him all year long, refuse to acknowledge his existence, then suddenly they’re best friends when the alcohol is flowing?

Instead, he forces out a fake laugh. “I suppose work just gets hectic, sometimes.”

He returns to Hawke’s side, who seems a little relieved to see him appear once again. The man downs the little cup of punch, throwing his arm around Anders’ waist in thanks. He lets himself be pulled to Hawke’s side, feeling a little guilty as he drinks in the warmth of the body against his—that very same body that will share his bed tonight.

Standing with their arms loosely around each other, Anders vaguely participates in whatever conversation comes their way. He mostly zones out, his thoughts instead turning to this Maker-damned party. He’d never be working at this company if he didn’t drop out of medical school. He wouldn’t have dropped out of medical school if Karl was still alive, and Karl would still be alive if Anders hadn’t let him drive that night.

It’s all his fault. Everything is his fault.

He was once so happy with his life, aiming to become a doctor through the support of his partner—Karl, who made him dinner when he forgot to eat, who quizzed him with handmade flashcards before examinations, who helped him pay for some of his more expensive textbooks.

But Karl died because of him and Anders killed his own chances at achieving his lifelong career goal and barred himself from forming any more intimate bonds ever since.

“Anders,” Hawke’s disembodied voice says from somewhere to the left of Anders. He feels a hand settle on his shoulder, gently jostling him from his thoughts. When he blinks, two of his co-workers and Hawke are staring back at him. The other man turns to the others with a courteous smile. “Excuse us, please.”

Hawke draws him off to the side of the large room, and already Anders feels less overwhelmed and more grounded in the reality that is unfortunately his own. The skin around his blue eyes crinkle in concern as Hawke peers down at him, keeping his hand on Anders’ shoulder which comforts him more than it should. The man’s presence itself is remarkably soothing, drawing his attention away from troublesome thoughts that have easily driven him to tears many times before.

“Are you okay? You seem… uncomfortable or troubled.”

Anders shrugs, unable to meet the man’s eyes.

“Would you like to leave?”

This question causes him to pause. He’s exhausted despite doing very little in terms of socializing. He hasn’t even found Niall—the sole reason he even came to this party—but at this point he’d rather talk to him on Monday when they all return to work. 

But Anders also knows what will happen when they go home. The horrifyingly cliche words “happy ending” echo in his mind, and he feels dread creeping into his gut. He hasn’t been with anyone since Karl, and he’s not entirely sure if he’s ready even with all this time to mentally prepare himself. 

But he needs to do this, he decides. He needs to get this over with, he needs to get over Karl and his fear of intimacy.

“Please.”

The apartment is dead silent when they arrive, but a light jingle alerts them of Ser Pounce’s arrival. Hawke stoops to one knee and curls a finger under the orange tabby’s head, scratching his sweet spot just above his blue collar. The cat immediately takes to the man, turning to be stroked all along his arching back.

“That was fast.” Anders pulls one shoe off after the other, lips quirking at the surprising sight of his cat attaching himself to a complete stranger. “He likes you.”

“Yeah,” Hawke says with a smile, giving the cat one last pat on the head before turning his attention to the laces of his formal shoes. “Most animals tend to like me, but I’m really more a dog person.”

With the confession, it hits Anders that this may be the first real thing knows about Hawke. The man who greeted him at the door, who held Anders close in the crowd of people, who read him like a book… that isn’t who Hawke really is. Anders is paying for a performance, and Hawke is being someone he wants and needs him to be. It serves as a reminder that all the gentle touches and warm smiles flashed in his direction over the course of the night were all just part of an act. 

No one this handsome and youthful would be actually interested in him. He would never be worthy of anyone like Hawke, not in a million years. 

Anders purposefully moves slowly, loosening his tie and shedding his jacket and cheap cufflinks. He hears Hawke step behind him, feels that warm solid mass come within inches of his back. A strong and steady hand finds its way to his hip, guiding him in a turn. Hawke presses him against the wall before leaning in close, their breaths intermingling.

“Is this still something you want?”

 _This._ Him. Them. Together.

He has to ask himself the question again: is this really what he wants? He thinks about it—about those hands all over his body, that deep voice in his ear, that body in all its naked glory against his own. Even after all this time, after Karl… 

Yes, he decides. Even if it’s all fake, even if it’s all just something he’s paying extra for, he wants it. He wants to feel the touch of another person, to feel appreciated and loved. But above all else, he wants it to be Hawke instead of some drunken bar patron. If it can’t be Karl… well, it can never be Karl now.

He comes back to the present, where the escort in question patiently waits for his answer.

“Yes,” he says in a breathy whisper, voice wavering slightly. “Yes.”

Hawke kisses him, snaking his arm around Anders’ waist and pulling him in closer. He reacts accordingly, arching his body flush with Hawke’s and tossing his arms around him to clutch at his shirt as the kiss goes deeper. The escort is an expert at what he does, quickly tearing away at Anders’ defenses he’s built over the years and taking over all his senses by siege.

Hawke draws back for a breath, hands tightening on his hips and pulling him close enough for their stirring erections to brush through their pants. “Bedroom?”

Not trusting himself to utter a coherent phrase, Ander nods and leads him further into the apartment.

With the door kicked closed and the cat effectively locked out, Hawke takes over and Anders is more than happy to let that happen. Lips never losing contact, Hawke slowly lowers them both to the mattress, covering Anders’ lanky body with his well-built one.

Hands find their way to the front of Anders’ shirt, reaching for the first button at the base of his neck. Against his will, Anders’ hands fly up to wrap around Hawke’s wrists, causing the man to freeze. The look on his face makes Anders realize it might look as if he was changing his mind about the whole ordeal.

“It’s… It’s been a long time,” he says, his voice laced with shame and guilt.

Hawke blinks, then places a tender kiss on his cheek. “’S okay.”

They help each other shed their clothes, the layers stripping away more than just clothes but also Anders’ defenses. Hawke doesn’t stop kissing him, making sure they’re always touching while they peel away their clothing.

Anders hums into every kiss, lavishing under the warm hands on his body, touching and tracing every part of him that Karl used to adore. The touch feels so good, so familiar it makes him ache with longing that he hasn’t felt in years. 

With the last of their clothes kicked away, every inch of Hawke’s glorious skin is exposed and a new desire to touch and taste all of it burns deep within Anders’ stomach. He surges forward, arching his body up so that their hardening erections brush. Hawke responds with a cut-off groan, pushing back as their bodies flex and roll together in a feverish pace. 

Hawke pauses, pulling away and smiling as Anders tries to follow him for another kiss. “How do you want to do this?”

The question stomps on the mood that was building, serving as yet another reminder that this isn’t happening naturally, it’s been arranged and paid for. Anders sighs, reaching out from beneath the other man to his bedside table. His hand scrapes along the side of it, pulling the drawer open and locating a small tube inside. He presses the lube into Hawke’s palm, not trusting his mouth to form the right words.

Thankfully, Hawke doesn’t need any more explanation, flipping the cap open with a click. He returns to kissing him like it was his mission. The scratch of his beard is achingly familiar but Anders tries his best to push those thoughts away and focus on giving himself over to Hawke.

Warm, slick fingers wrap around his cock, giving it a few pumps for good measure. Hawke turns his attention to kissing the curve of his neck as a wet finger traces down the length of his cock, over his balls to his hole. The slide of the first finger is good, but the second is more satisfying. Fingers expertly curl, hitting that sweet spot that makes Anders moan while the other man continues.

Hawke lets his lips explore the dips and crests of his collarbones and showering affection upon the freckles that pepper his shoulders. His other hand—large, gentle, steadying—traces up the length of his arm, fingers completely encircling his wrist and pinning him oh-so-gently to the mattress.

A third finger has Anders nearly ready, shivering and begging for more. Hawke nods, rolling on a condom before guiding the head of his cock to his hole. He presses in slowly, ensuring that Anders can feel every inch of the man’s impressive girth. When their bodies become flush together, he finds himself becoming intoxicated on the feeling of fullness, eyes fluttering shut as his breath quickens.

“Are you okay?” The question isn’t as concerned as it is simply checking in.

Anders nods, letting out a shuddering exhale. He’s more than okay. It’s been so long, but he desperately needs for this feeling to multiply, overtaking his body and senses completely. When Hawke’s hips start a slow, rolling rhythm that builds and builds just like the heat in Anders’ stomach. His fingers twist and curl in his sheet, grasping the cotton like a lifeline.

“It’s okay,” soothes Hawke’s breathy whisper in his ear. “You can hold onto me.”

With permission, Anders slowly wraps his legs around Hawke’s waist and loops his arms around his neck. He bites his lip in an attempt to bite back every sound and moan that every quickening thrust elicits.

“No, let me hear you.”

His voice is gentle, a request, and Anders can’t help but to grant his wish. He scrapes his nails down the man’s back, unsure if he’s allowed to be leaving marks until a long and needy noise comes out of Hawke’s throat. Their lips find each other again, and this time Hawke kisses him like he’s trying to steal the breath from Anders’ lungs—and he’s almost successful.

Hawke’s arms snaked around him, the near silent grunt in his ear, the glide of his cock, the feel of his beard along his skin, the glimpses of blue eyes… It’s all almost too much.

“H-hawke,” he says, gutting out the syllable like a shiver. He needs—and _oh,_ how he _needs_ —but he can’t pin down what it is exactly. He needs Hawke to move faster and harder, to touch and kiss him more.

Somehow, Hawke seems to understand through just his name, taking both of his hands and threading their fingers together. Slowing his thrusts, he drops down so that their chests are flush together.

The influx of contact overwhelms Anders, yet he’s still greedy for more. “Please,” he gasps. “Plea—”

But Hawke cuts him off with a kiss so sweet, much more sweet than he deserves. Only one person has treated Anders like this—like he was worth something, like he was something to be cherished and loved. Karl held him every night, through thick and thin, no matter if he felt like he was king of the world and being crushed beneath its weight.

But now, the feel of Hawke’s body pressed over his, the brush of his beard, and the searing heat of his lips… it’s all too much like Karl, but in a good way. Anders’ heart already feels like it’s healing, but it feels like betrayal. His lover is gone, and he feels guilt over this, his tiny step toward recovery. But the hands laced through his are more Hawke’s than Karl’s, and the thought of replacing him, forgetting him, is utterly terrifying.

The dark cloud of emotions that whirl around in his mind like the beginning of a rapturous storm, destined to destroy him. In the midst of it all, he feels Hawke pause and draw away, his hot breath blowing across his face.

“Anders.”

Hands wiggle free from their hold.

“Please look at me.”

Anders’ eyes snap open, focusing in the glowing street light that floods in through the bedroom window. He doesn’t know when he started crying but his face is wet, tears tracking down his cheeks. Overcome with embarrassment and shame, Anders immediately tries escaping out from under the man’s hold.

Hawke lets him—damn him—and pulls out before sitting back on his heels. Ander scrambles back until he hits the headboard with a thump, wiping his tears with the heels of his palms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Anders repeats, babbling as he draws his knees to his chest. When he looks up, eyes clearing of tears, Hawke is looking at him. He’s concerned, but there’s this soft and gentle look in his eyes that Anders feels he doesn’t deserve. Shuffling forward on his knees, he comes to join him sitting against the headboard.

Though Hawke hasn’t said a word—hasn’t poked or prodded him—Ander still feels it all come tumbling out.

“I was engaged once,” he begins, sniffling. “His name was Karl, and he was everything to me. But then he died, three years ago. And now I’m alone, and I haven’t… not since him. I can’t—I _can’t_ —”

A warm gentle hand cups his cheek, turning his face up. Golden eyes meet blue, so blue, and Anders tries to look away but he can’t escape the draw. 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

It’s true, Anders agrees. He shouldn’t be dropping his life’s problems on some guy who barely knows him, who is paid to be there. But Hawke’s fingers slide to his chin and guides their lips together, and for one sweet moment, it all disappears before it come crashing back.

Hawke shuffles him until their bodies are slotted together, Anders curled up against his chest and cradled in Hawke’s strong and comforting arms.

“I’ll listen to anything you want to say,” Hawke says, rubbing a hand in circles at the base of his spine, “but I think you should get some rest. The evening has been a little rough on you.”

Anders nods, slumping against the man. This terribly perfect, caring, expensive man who has only tended to his wants and needs all night, probably much more than he was paid to do. As his mind quiets, he thinks about all the moments where things felt oh-so-right with Hawke.

✢

When he wakes, there’s a new type of light that spills through the curtains of his bedroom. Limbs aching and head throbbing, he pushes himself up to his elbows and wipes the sleep from his eyes. When he looks around, there’s evidence of Hawke being there but he feels a little disappointment that the man is gone.

 _‘Of course he wouldn’t stay,’_ he reminds himself. It was only a business transaction, money paid for a service. Hawke did what he asked and left, just as he should have.

As the memories of the previous night wash over him, he feels sick to his stomach. He cried. He cried and he blathered his whole life story to a stranger he had only met hours before.

It takes an hour of laying in bed for him to gather the energy to get out of bed to make himself some coffee. He stands in the kitchen, in a shirt and boxers, thinking about how Hawke must think he’s a pathetic weak man—for both crying during sex but also hiring an escort in the first place.

He laughs, a dry and bitter sound. He couldn’t even do it with an escort. At many times during the night, Hawke didn’t feel like someone he hired. The way he touched, kissed, and spoke to Anders reminded him of how lovers are. Hawke’s gentle hands and deep voice brought the world back to color, returning all things soft, beautiful, and bright if only for a short time.

He drinks the coffee with no extras, and his eyes catch on something small and white on the counter. It’s a crisp new business card, with the words ‘Champion Escort Service’ emblazoned on the front. 

When he flips it over, it has some scratchy scrawl wedged within its confines.

 _“Anders, you don’t have to be alone. Perhaps we can be friends? ~ Garrett”_ with a phone number written beneath it.

It’s unexpected, the offer hitting him in the chest and stirring up something warm in his heart. With such a note, Anders knew Hawke didn’t think he was a pathetic freak for what he’s said and done. He doesn’t have to draw up memories from the night before since he can still feel Hawke touching him, above him, inside him, holding him close. And now that man wanted to talk to him and be friends. The idea of seeing Hawke again doesn't stir up the feelings of betrayal as it did before, but rather hope—the kind of hope that makes him look forward to the future, that tells him that he has one worth living.

Anders sends up a prayer, not to the Maker, but to his departed love.

“Karl, please forgive me, but I want to try.”

**Author's Note:**

> written drunk on whiskey and feelings
> 
> title taken from a quote from The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller
> 
> come find me on tumblr @ storybookhawke


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